Saved
by Night Diviner
Summary: Spoilers for Series 9, assumed if my theories are correct! The Plot: The Doctor is a wreck since the passing of his Clara Oswald, and he just can't move on. However, maybe there's still a way he can save her. It's what he always does, but this time it could mean the destruction of several friendships in between. Whouffaldi, some Yowzah, and VastraXJenny :)
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't know about you guys, but I've found it pretty lame for there to be a scenario in every series 9 episode where either Clara's or the Doctor's or both of their lives are at risk. The overusage of the foreshadowing kind of cheapens however Clara is going to leave the TARDIS. What can I do about this? Look at it through the characters' perspectives, and find new meaning. I believe I have with this prologue. Check it out ;)

* * *

Situation - You hear a joke. It's probably the funniest joke you've heard in a while, or at least the first good one. What separates it from all the other jokes is that you haven't heard it before. It's new, you laugh. All the others started out exactly the same way, but what happened? What changed? Absolutely nothing! 'Still the same joke, but it's not the quality that's the matter. Sometimes an individual's opinion is based solely on the _quantity o_ f something, or the amount of times that something occurs. Soon the new joke will suffer the same fate as the ones prior to it, depending on your willingness to spread it like a disease, and your hearty laugh will fade into nothing more than a little ha-ha.

If you've been looking for a name for this, there isn't one. Now, depending on how drawing that bit of information would have been for you, you could be yapping about it all over the place, spreading it like a disease. You're welcome. It's not just jokes that fall victim to the blah blah effect (though if you must know, it could relate to semantic satiation, if you want to Bing that).

However, sometimes the effect's reversed. You could feel one way, or nothing at all, about an event, but then the event occurs again and again, and you find your feelings for it have increased a significant amount. Sometimes it's so bad, you don't want to let go.

Being over two millenia, I of course have had my share of running into certain "continuities," as you will. It could be the same people, the same warnings, similar adventures or journeys. You name it (and then there's probably someone else who named the same thing, too). As we've already justified, there are two ways that I feel about these continuities. However, quite recently I have come across a situation that has become something of a normality, something I don't know if I'm tiring of hearing, or if every time I hear it, my hearts beat a little faster, my brow produces a little more sweat, a few more tears rest on my eyelids.

Sometimes it would be my enemies who told me.  
Davros. "You cannot help her now, Doctor."  
"Clara's dead, Doctor. This is the one that killed her." Missy.

Sometimes my friends.  
"She'll die on you, you know. She'll blow away like smoke." Ashildr-slash-me.

Even my own ship would remind me. I once was explaining to a very confused pudding brain, "I'm going to save Clara, because that's what I do. And I don't see anyone here who's going to stop me." Of course, the only one who COULD stop me, my own TARDIS. The cloister bell donged; she was going nowhere.

Yet somehow I always managed to save Clara Oswald, despite the warnings, the lies. That's where it got redundant, repetitive, but all the more or less (literally more or less) painful. The only way I can describe this feeling is that it's as if more and more pieces of me crumble off, and they fall into the dust that's already collected on the floor.

It hurts, the truth, but what hurts even more is the truth that, the FACT that my fears of losing my companion, my Clara, may have finally caught up to me. The jokes have to stop somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: The following scene takes place in Face the Raven, where it is presumed Clara dies. This is sort of how I think Clara's last moments will go down, at least ssimilarly. This is written from Rigsy's POV (so glad he's returning!)

* * *

I didn't understand what happened. It's like they say in the news reports - all a blur, so fast. One minute, I was spray-painting a mural for the community garden. The next, I was holding a dying woman.

Her head lay in my lap, and I could feel her anguish by the way her breaths came in and out. "It'll be okay," I tried telling her, but maybe I was just trying to calm myself.

I could see the small tears in her eyes, the way her lips quivered. She must've been scared, or in pain, or worried about how the Doctor might take this.

I'd met this woman before, about a year or two ago, now. Her name was Clara. At first I thought she was crazy, talking to herself and about tiny people, but then she had me nearly sacrificing myself to save the world...not like it wasn't her idea or anything. From then on, my whole perspective on life changed, and I saw...opportunity in my spray-paintings.

And now here she was, dying, after another "wild adventure." That's not what I want to call it though. "You sacrificed yourself," I started out, ashamed of even starting the question, with the state she was in. "Why?"

She didn't answer me, just looked off to the side sadly. I decided to follow through with a joke. "Wasn't there a hairband?" Oh no. Was that joke a sick one?

She chuckled again, and I wondered, for a tiny moment, if she'd be okay. I really hoped that, but then she gasped in pain, her eyes squeezing tight. I didn't know what to do, except keep repeating over and over, "It's okay, you'll be okay, the Doctor will be here soon."

At that moment, Clara and I both lifted our heads at the wheezing sounds of the...TARDIS, I think it was called, both relieved and worried at the same time. The doors thrust open, and the Doctor was on his knees in an instant. He was in his red velvet coat, and it looked almost as if he was dressed to say goodbye. "No, no, no, no, no," he rapidly whispered to her. I did what I could do by laying her on the concrete, and stepped back a few paces to give them a bit of privacy. I just watched, too stunned to really have any emotion of my own. I could see it coming, though, like a storm in the distance.

I noticed the way he gently lifted her into his lap, now, holding her much closer than I had been. His right arm supported her back, his left extending to caress her face, which was moist from a few fallen tears. "Doctor." Her voice was even quieter, croakier.

I noticed the way they looked at each other, deep and sad in the other's stare. It was hard to watch them, because they were mourning for each other like both had already died. "Sh, sh, sh, shh," he murmured to her. "Don't talk. It'll weaken you." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a golden box looking thing with a dial. What was it?

He held it over her, and began twisting the dial every which way, making it click and ring. "This might just help," the Doctor started explaining at last, but it didn't sound like he was too confident in the machine. " 'Sort of like a thermostat for the dying, except also with a heartbeat spiker. The good kind." He gave Clara a polite, affirming, and toothy grin. She smiled back warmly, and I even found myself smiling. Things at least sounded okay, and that was good enough for me in the moment.

Suddenly, the Doctor's device started clicking more than it was ringing, and his attention was on it, grin fading. I felt motivated by my worry to ask. "What's wrong?"

"Well, this is a 2128 model." He shook it vigorously beside his ear, like he was listening for someone to tell him when the systems were on, and tried twisting the dial again. "A little dodgey." Still no ringing, and it was back to the vigorous shaking.

An arm lifted up and grasped his, making it still. We focused our attention downward on Clara, whose tears must have increased during his struggle to save her life. I'd been so caught up in the device that I didn't even notice her crying. "Please," she pleaded. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Clara, I'm not letting you die when there's a solution!" The pain, the anger in his voice.

She breathed heavily, and I felt the tugging urge to do something, anything, and hope for the best. I took a step forward. "Can't I help?"

"NO!"

His bark startled me, and I stepped back. But then I looked down at Clara's phone in my hand, began dialing the hospital. For whatever reason, he retaliated, and the two of us started to argue, until something small and squeaky stopped us.

"Doctor, please."

Both our attention snapped back on Clara. She was what mattered, but for some stupid reason, I let the phone drop to my side. Wasn't like they were picking up, anyway.

Clara continued weakly. "It's been good. Traveling with you." She was barely able to, but somehow she managed it, and fixed her eyes on me. "You too, Rigsy."

A respectful nod from me, and I left my head in sort of a ducked position.

Now the Doctor seemed to lose himself, held-in tears falling for the first time, I could just tell. "But you can't. You can't die like this."

"Yes, I can. Now, I can." Her words were very affirming, stronger now, comforting to the both of us. She paused for a moment, gathering the next ones carefully. "You... may think this isn't the happiest ending for me, Doctor, but...honestly...you've given me all I ever wanted. To travel, to be someone else...to feel..." This was trickier for her to say. "...to feel special."

Her words hit me, hard in the heart. I realized at that moment that that's how they made me feel over a year ago, like I was someone, that I meant something to the world, that I could do more than what people thought...that I was special. To this day I've felt that way.

He looked at a loss for words, the Doctor, his face twisting like he'd been twisting that dial - every which way. "Clara...I..."

She moved her hand from his arm, and placed it on his left cheek. Gently, he took it in his, and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, as if wanting to absorb the entire moment. Their eyes were deadlocked on each other. She was smiling, he looked broken. I decided to look away, because this was their moment, their last moment.

"Hey," Clara started, voice barely a whisper. "You came back for me."

A great distance came between them, but they were probably closer to each other than ever before. I lifted my hands to my cap, picked it up, and placed it over my heart out of memoriam. I still didn't know what to feel, though...why?

Clara's eyes stared blankly at him now, all their previous sparkle long gone. Yet, her hand was still there, upon the Doctor's cheek, his hand the only thing keeping it up. Across his eyes zoomed all different kinds of emotion, all negative, but the scene soon disappeared behind closed eyes of deep sorrow. I heard a whimper of defeat escape from him.

He pressed the woman's hand against his face, as if squeezing it there would pump life back into her. After a moment, he delicately took the hand away from his cheek, and placed it on Clara's chest for her, but not before delivering the palm a small but heartfelt kiss, in which he leaked out all his feelings. Only afterward did he finally set the appendage down, looking down at her properly. I could see there was something he longed to say, but that he found no use in it, so he said nothing at all. I was in the exact position.

My whole perspective on life would change again, but I constantly remind myself that someone else's life took a major transformation on that fateful, tearful day.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a lazy afternoon, as all past afternoons have been about half a month now. I was in my favorite chair, sipping at some tea from my china as I sat there reading the morning papers, chuckling to myself as I did so. It was Arthur Conan Doyle's column, AGAIN. _Silly apes. They sure do like to hear the blandest of stories_.

My wife, in her maid's uniform, was drawing the curtains for me. Because those past few weeks had been uneventful, I found little reason to go outside, which put me at a high risk for chills. Jenny had tried urging me to at least get some fresh air, but for some reason, I felt inclined to stay at home, as if some sudden danger might occur. It was a rather ominous feeling. If nothing else, I had to stay Strax's sake. When Jenny actually had managed to persuade me to go on a walk once, we came home to a rather gruesome scene of scorched goats in the alley. "Test run," was all our Sontaran butler, or should I say 5-year-old, said.

"Is that the Arthur Conan Doyle column?" my wife inquired as to my chuckle, which snapped me back into my senses. She was still there at the window, this time shoving on the shutters to let a little air in. It wasn't very necessary, but I was grateful anyway. She does care for me so.

I took a sip of my tea and set my paper aside before answering her. "Regretfully, yes."

"I rather like him," she replied sweetly, stepping back from the window to admire her handiwork.

"He's so dull! He drones on and on and on about everything except the gore."

She turned and lifted her eyebrows at me poignantly. "Perhaps he just wants to leave a little bit to the readers imagination." I only growled somewhat playfully, and ended to argument there. I didn't want to waste my sunshine on a useless quarrel about primate authors.

And yet, the sunshine suddenly disappeared, causing both Jenny and I to turn and look. An average person would have suspected it to be clouds, merely passing over the sun, completely ignoring the fact that the wind had picked up a little too much, scooping my paper up off the end table, ruffling the leaves on the indoor plants.

I stood up next to my wife, both of our gazes fixed on the looming blue box outside. "Jenny, I think we have a...certain special client to speak with."

* * *

With a certain special client often comes a certain special case. I'd point out how much his hair had grown since we'd last met, but I'm afraid it was a little more alarming than that. This time he was weeping, as much as he could weep without embarrassing himself, anyway. Tears fell from his eyes, his voice cracked every now and then as he relayed his story, but his expression lay fixed on a crumb left on the table between us, perhaps using his evident ADHD as a coping mechanism of some sort.

I looked to my wife, who was seated beside me. I could tell, that just as the Doctor, she was trying to keep it together. I noticed how her right hand quivered with emotion. In an attempt to offer comfort, I grasped it. She flitted her eyes over at me, gave a polite little smile, and looked back at the Doctor with a new composure, even going so far as to ask a question. "Did anything else happen after that? After Clara died, I mean?"

He still stared at the crumb, like it was the last thing worth anything in the universe he now viewed as cold and cruel. "Nothing worth mentioning," he dismissed, and reached his hand across the table to pick up the morsel and inspect it even further.

I allowed him a brief moment of silence before I went on to voice what he probably thought, but did not understand himself. "A small crumb, left behind from something so sweet. A memory of what was, but when the cleaner stops by, it is pesky, and often swept away. But for a little while, it stays there as a reminder of the scone." I saw how the time lord's eyes widened, ever so slightly. I leaned in closer, attempting to gather his full attention. "Doctor. Address your emotion. It is small, yes, but don't let it make you bitter. Don't sweep it into the pile."

I had a feeling that Jenny would interject, either in full agreement or to scold me for my "coldness." Yet it was only the ticking clock which spoke. The gears turned within it, adjusting and calculating the time and I saw similar ones turning behind the Doctor's eyes, adjusting and calculating his feelings. "She is the last one."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The last companion. The last friend. The last one I care about slipping by."

Silence.

I couldn't help but break out into a laugh, disregarding my wife's scornful gaze. I would not resist it, because this whole situation was all too familiar. "You silly man! You said that the last time, and then look who showed up and kicked a big hole into the side of your life!" This scene was not new to me. When the Doctor lost the Ponds, his companions before Miss Oswald, he'd come to us, just like this. He spent time in Victorian London for a while, became something of an Ebenezer Scrooge, but he eventually found his Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, AND Future in a girl named Clara Oswin Oswald, who died, but it wasn't the last he'd see of that face. That's what gave him hope, and it's the same story over and over again, as I'd told him before. And it always started with the same two words - "Doctor who?" "No matter how much you resist, Doctor, you will never stop finding people."

As he got up, he knocked his chair over and stooped over us, his cold eyes ferociously glowering on me. "Then maybe I should make it to where people STOP finding me!"

I shut up for the briefest of moments, standing for myself. Jenny stayed seated, but desperately tried protesting through clenched teeth, "Sit down! You can stop this! Start things over!" But I didn't care. "You wouldn't," I shot at him.

"But I could!"

THEN Jenny stood, but not beside me."But you shouldn't!" She'd taken her own side, quite literally as she moved to a vacant part of the table. "What would Clara want? Huh?"

"Clara is dead!" The Doctor shouted, but thank the goddess, my wife has more rebellion, more smarts than she may look capable of. "She might not be, Doctor. You said you saw her die before,TWICE, yet she always kept showing up."

"But! You saw! You even!" He struggled to find the right words, but one thing he communicated, to my great offense, was how stupid he thought my wife for her point. Though, fortunately, I saw her brilliance. "What Jenny is saying, Doctor, is to find comfort in the fact that you haven't officially LOST your companion. There are parts of her floating around all throughout your existence. She's still around, she might show up, and if she does...if she does..." If she does...what?

"-then you can at least say goodbye, knowing that a part of her is still alive and well," Jenny finished for me, much to my pleasure.

The gears turned again. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Silence, and then a sigh. He bent over and picked up his chair, setting it right. Then, he made his way for the window where he parked.

Jenny seemed rather confused, and slightly disappointed. "Are you going?"

I answered that for her, knowing full and well that the Doctor would not comply. "He has nothing else to say, no reason to be here any longer than he has to."

She was completely distraught. "But...he's not going to..." A tear even raced down her cheek.

I patted her gently on the back, placing my hands on her shoulders. "We have nothing else to say either."

Silence.

The Doctor hopped out the window, but stopped as soon as his feet were on the ground. Apparently, there WAS more he had to say. "Vastra."

"Yes?" What could he want?

Silence again.

"Never let go." And he pushed open the police box doors, vanished into the blue.

She and I exchanged a glance. She and I were both melting on the inside. She and I loved each other, never wanted to lose each other, never wanted to see the other die first. And I realized something, remembered something. Could this only be a hearty laugh?

No matter. She and I were there, right then. I gripped her, she gripped me. We would never let go.


	4. Chapter 4

The bells on the door jingle, and they're met by a pleasant, "Hello! Welcome to Eddie's Diner!" from the friendly girl working the bar. She's got precious orders tight in her hands, and her eyes are on the new customer. Is that a guitar swung over his back?

He advances on her, specifically her, and she smiles his direction. She really has to send these orders into the kitchen, but she figures she could at least be kind enough to tell the man how it goes around there. "Just sit where you like. I'll be with you in a second." She's about to head off into that kitchen, but he just overlaps her with a sturdy, Scottish, "No," that gets demands her full attention.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said 'Hello.' No. That's wrong." He hangs over the bar, peers up at her. "This is 'Goodbye.'" He certainly doesn't seem to care much about what impression he leaves on people. Right now he's acting like a creep, drawing the attention of some of the diner's most loyal customers.

The barmaid peers back at him, looks him over. She hasn't seen him before...at least she doesn't think so. "Have we met?"

When he smiles at her, there is a wistful glimmer in his eye."Oh, Clara Oswald, we did more than meet." She returns the smile, out of respect but with dear apology. "I think you might have the wrong person. My name is Kay," She points at the label clipped to her bright blue uniform, in efforts to avoid any accusations of being a liar. No one really calls her by her name anyway, it's all just "Miss," or "Ma'am" or "Hey, food person!" no matter how many times she says, "My name's Kay, if you need anything." It feels good to finally put that tag into good use. "Mouché. Not Oswald. So sorry. Perhaps I just...look like someone." She really has to get to those orders right about now.

His gaze fixes on the table's scribbly patterns, which he's tracing with his left index finger. It's almost as if he's talking to the scribbles when he replies, "Oh, you look a lot like someone." Straightening his back at last so perhaps Kay can get to her work, he looks around. This place, with all these people and conversations and skillets...it's not for him. Friendliness is not for him. He gives the table a final, "Nice meeting you" tap, and takes a step away.

"Leaving?" The girl asks, seriously wondering about him now. He's a creep, those types of men her mom warned her about going into the waiting service. Yet something's just so sad about him, something about those big sad eyes. As a waitress, she does have a duty of care. Those orders can wait at least a tiny bit longer.

He stops, turns halfway back, as if just a quarter more would make him start thinking of those eggs. "Well, that's kind of why I said my goodbye. I'm taking my leave. Letting things go." He turns away, and it's a little easier now. "Goodbye, Clara."

He heads for the doors, and she watches him, very curious. It was a very curious encounter, and she should be glad she might never see him again, but admittedly, seeing him go brings her melancholy.

When he is alone in his TARDIS, he thinks. He remembers.

" _When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end. But however hard you try, you can't run for ever. Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark, if he ever, for one moment, accepts it."_

The people he's lost, the stars he's seen, the civilizations he's saved, but it's always the same question.

" _Why? Why would I give her my screwdriver? Why would I do that?Thing is, future me had years to think about it, all those years to think of a way to save her, and what he did was give her a screwdriver. Why would I do that?"_

Why?

" _Oh! Oh! Oh, look at that. I'm very good!_ "

And sometimes, when he's caught up in his memories...

 _"What have you done?"_

 _"Saved her."_

...he gets an idea.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: So, in a way, the past 4 chapters are Part 1. Really, they're all just an introduction to the main plot. This is kind of where the story REALLY gets started, and these next few chapters are lighter. If you got sad feels, don't worry. I'm giving you a break for a few chapters.

* * *

There's a point in life you come across when the migrains come more frequently, when the smallest noises make your ears want to explode right off the sides of your head, and yet there's always those little nagging fists pounding from the inside of your mind in case they do. Clara Oswald was not very old, but these sorts of headaches came and went all the time. How she longed to have a day, maybe even a whole week, where she could teach her students about all the stresses a teacher like her went through, but unfortunately, it was not in the curriculum. _Very necessary, though. Could turn up at the Board tomorrow with a whole book in hand about it_.

She made her way up the steps and into her hallway, keys jingling in hand. _Really should let go, though. Grading's not due til Thursday._ She got to her door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. _And anyway, I've got all the time in the universe for my marking. But right now, just a nice cup of tea_. She shut the door...

...but it suddenly swung back open behind Clara, making her whip around, jump backward. Yet, when she saw who it was standing there, her heart rate slowed back to normal pace. "Doctor? Wha...what are you doing here?" She was really irritated by the alien's approach, but she knew he meant no harm. To be honest, she was pleased to see him after a day like the one she'd just had.

His eyes darted around her flat, like he was checking to make sure everything was still in place. Instinctively, Clara followed his eyes. Was there some kind of... future robbery she should be warned about? "Doctor?"

He snapped back into his senses, focusing on the slightly impatient 5'1" English teacher. And when he looked at her, he seemed to scan her just as he had the room, but with a pleasant smile on his face. SHE lifted an eyebrow, which told him to get on with it. "Right," was his first word. The time lord drew an arm from behind his back, and clutched in the hand...was a bouquet of an assortment of colorful flowers. "Uhh...I got you these."

Clara blinked at the bouquet, stunned. She had no idea what to say by this...bold move, but she knew she had to say something. "Wow," _Okay... S_ he took the flowers, and took them into her eyes. _Really wow_.A noise sounded in her throat, a sort of chuckle at the alien's effort. "A little bit of a Casanova today, are we? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he answered, properly entering the room now, hands held behind his back during inspection. "Just found them lying on some window ledge downstairs. 'Thought you might like them." He made himself comfortable on his friend's sofa, even going so far as to pick up the daily paper and scanning through it.

Clara was left to shut the door behind him, though didn't really mind. His gift was too charming, though there was, of course, always a flaw. "So, in other words, you stole them." Of course he would. He was alien, and Clara knew that some human concepts were especially hard for him to grasp, but she thought he'd know SOMETHING about apartment gardening. "Doctor..."

"Relax! I was only testing you. Had to check if you were the same old Clara Oswald." A smirk formed on his lips as he stared into the paper, and Clara couldn't tell if it was just pride or something deeper. No matter. So long as he hadn't actually swiped some flowers, the only concern the woman had at that moment was to find a suitable vase for the bouquet. She swiveled her head around, then spotted one on a stand positioned near her window. _Ah! That'll do_. "So," she began, heading for the stand. "What've you been up to lately?" But as soon as she'd reached her destination, she stopped, eyebrows furrowed at the vase.

The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed for a second, too, but not for the same reason. His mind seemed to be fighting for an answer to her question, some explanation for his disappearance, but Clara was too busy to notice. To the weary Time Lord's delight, she was so busy that she dismissed the question all together with a quiet, "That's odd."

"What's odd?" he asked, focusing his attention on her.

Clara pointed at the vase, which was skinny and pale pink. It looked like any other vase, but the crumbly brown heads drooping over yellowed sticks were what had called for Clara's attention. The Doctor looked to his companion's right hand, which still held the fresh flowers. "I just watered these yesterday," she explained. "They were all blooming."

"Oh, well, we can't all be good at everything." Then there was silence from the Doctor, who just hid his gaze back into the paper. He didn't seem particularly interested in what he was reading, more that the news provided a distraction. Or rather, "funnies" than "news," but the comics and jokes were all new to the time lord, and that was enough for him. Yet there came the pounding fists inside his head, the guilt. "I...may have come by and tested...a handheld time machine..." was his meek excuse. Excuse could never be a truer word.

"Handheld?"

"I was thinking of that turkey disaster you had all those centuries ago."

"Two years for me," she sighed, reflecting on that Christmas two years ago with a wince, for everything that had happened in the course of 24 hours. Her whole life flipped inside out. And that last one was hard, too...

"Anyway, I figured it's November," he piped up again, making Clara dismiss the sorrows of her past two Christmases. It wasn't like she'd give up either one of them for the world, because she had the Doctor. She had all of time and space. And...right now they were discussing domestics. "Christmas is coming up, you need the help. Can't just have you calling me all hours of the day for a cooking crisis."

"So," Clara meandered to the couch, and plopped herself beside her friend. A good talk about science and tech was what she craved. "It's got a cooking setting?"

She was awfully close to him, their shoulders almost brushing, and an uncomfortable yet comforting feeling fell over the Doctor. The contact was a little unnerving, but the Doctor realized that it meant his Clara Oswald was there, sitting beside him, alive, and happy. "No. It just uses time winds to move the object forward or backward into its time stream, to what is supposed to happen to it or what already has."

Finally, Clara was the inquisitive student, and someone else was the teacher. The role switch provided a fresh feeling for the weary Miss Oswald, quenching her thirst to delve into the scientific wonders of time travel. "So...if the object is, say, a turkey, it'll become cooked?"

"If it's supposed to happen, the same way the flowers turned all of a sudden. Although, they could also turn back into seeds...except a turkey would be an egg." How could he explain it all so that a human like her with less brain capacity than him could understand? She was very clever, the cleverest person he'd met in a long time, but even still - could she grasp it? Or perhaps the real question was, how could the Doctor make this up without his companion spotting any flaws, as she was very clever. "It's very confusing, could potentially trigger a paradox."

She didn't particularly feel comfortable with that. "With turkey? In my apartment?" There was the twinge of frustration. "Doctor! I've told you before - no experiments in my apartment."

He rolled his eyes at her, but it was only a normal reaction from her. "Yes, yes, yes, but in the end the main thing is that you TRIED Christmas dinner."

The shadows of the tough day and the growing frustrations that her apartment was apparently a lab vanished under the radiance of her dismissive smile. "Well," she chuckled, "That's better than nothing."

Together, the laughed at the Doctor's joke, until things settled down. "Which brings us to the unfortunate part," the time lord shifted. "Your flowers did it in."

"Did it in?"

"No time machine oven." What a shame. He cast the paper to the side, flinging it like a Frisbee, as if it had been his failed invention. Clara nodded, thinking the conversation had ended there, but oh, it hadn't. "The fortunate part - I'll be here with you. So, if you need help with anything," This took Clara by immediate surprise, but the Doctor only ignored her and continued. "I'll be here to help you. Took some lessons from a great chef by the name of -"

No, no. No chef stories. Those were probably best for another time. What he'd said before was way more important to Clara. "Hang on - be here with me? You're coming over?" The possibility excited Miss Oswald. This was something she'd often wondered about the Doctor, if he'd ever come by and visit for dinner. It was something she'd always looked forward to, always wanted, no matter how bad there split up could ever get. The Doctor would always have to drop by, ESPECIALLY for dinner.

"Rather, I'm staying through Christmas."

Clara didn't quite understand, or perhaps she was just trying to keep hopeful. "Meaning you and I will be traveling together through the holidays, you'll come for dinner. I gotcha." The Doctor would never pull what she'd thought he might pull. Yeah, never.

"No." Okay...He got up, hands shoved into pockets, as he made his way for the sunlight that filtered through the curtains.

"No?" The news stung Clara, rubbed her the wrong way. And it wasn't just the news; it was the way he was standing there at her window, staring through the curtains at the world beyond.

"No more traveling." His voice was quiet and solemn, his decision definite. "No more time and space. Not for a while, anyway." He was finally bidding the universe farewell after centuries of serving it, being hurt by it. And as he looked to the woman who joined him, her eyes big and inquisitive, he remembered that she was the reason why. All she'd done for him, to keep him breathing, to keep him pure, he would not let the universe take that away from him...

...and Clara would not let the Doctor fall into the biggest mistake of his entire life. That was her job description, anyway. "You can't do this," was her protest. "Why, WHY would you EVER do this?"

Because he'd lose her. Because the universe seemed to be after her. Because he needed her. Because he wanted her safe. Because...of something else - two something elses. Yet the time lord only turned his head, kept silent.

A large white mug, filled to the brim with hot tea, steam flowing over the top and billowing down the sides. That was what Clara wanted more than anything, but instead, there was different kind of steam spewing from her. "Doctor, you can't just turn away and THROW your whole lifestyle away, just for me! I don't know how many times I need to say it, I don't mind traveling with you." That wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to put it.

He steamed back. "And I don't mind staying with you!"

So she folded her arms, and fixed him with a burning glare. She couldn't believe this, because she didn't truly believe this was what the Doctor wanted, but she would comply...only to get her way, which was probably the best way for him. "Then stay. I see how it is. It's fair, really." The only way to prove something to the Doctor was to give him a shot and make him see.

If only he could make HER see, without letting her know. "Pardon?"

"I enjoy traveling with you, and the reason I do, or did, now, I guess, is because it was a whole new life for me. It's only fair that I return the favor." She smiled before she left his side, to assure him that she was mad, but it would be okay. "Now, time for domestics." She got closer, holding him in her gaze. "First question - how many lumps of sugar?"


End file.
